


Arrival

by flowersforgraves



Series: hc_bingo round 8 [12]
Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Community: hc_bingo, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 15:39:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13251312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowersforgraves/pseuds/flowersforgraves
Summary: In which Mr Norrell frets.prompt: undeserved reputation





	Arrival

The Miracle at Hurtfew, as the public had taken to calling it, had been Mr Norrell’s very first practical application of magic. His healing of the Lady Emma Pole, neé Wintertowne, had been his second. As such, Childermass knew that his master would be… anxious were he to be called upon to show his skills in another demonstration of practicality.

It came as little surprise to him that Norrell was doing a great deal of fretting about this particular topic. “Childermass!” Norrell called.

“Yes,” he said, purposely _not_ giving a deep sigh.

“What shall I do if I am called upon to give another proof of my magic?” Norrell was pacing up and down in front of his desk. This display was the surprising part, to Childermass; when Norrell’s peace of mind was disturbed, as was often the case, he usually sought refuge in his books.

“Belasis’ Scopus is a fine spell,” Childermass offered. Indeed, he was fond of Scopus, having (very discreetly) attempted it himself once or twice. “Especially if someone in power asks.”

“Well of course,” Norrell said. “It would hardly be proper for just anyone to request proof of my skill.”

Norrell was an introverted man, happier with a book in his library than a party in a sitting room. Of course, being the only magician in England necessitated his physical presence at soirees, fetes, and other social engagements, and he was more than likely to try to get out of them by feigning sick or tired. Not that Norrell didn’t have legitimate complaints most of the time; Childermass had never known him to be without a headache or sore joints. But that didn’t mean he could simply walk out on important social functions with impunity.

“Mr Norrell,” Childermass started, disturbed by his master’s rapid pacing, “would you like to sit down?”

“No,” Norrell said distractedly, “I think not. Mr Strange should be arriving soon, and I expect he will be wanting to know what feats of magickal prowess I have achieved. Do you think he will want to see Belasis’ Scopus?”

Childermass frowned. “I thought Mr Strange was due to-morrow?”

“I’m quite certain he is to come today,” Norrell insisted. “I have it recorded on my schedule…”

He leaned over his desk, quickly turning pages. “Ah yes. Mr Strange is to visit this afternoon.”

“I’ll prepare tea,” Childermass said, suppressing a sigh.

“Yes, yes,” Norrell said, hands fluttering about his head as he tried to calm down. “Do you think it would be appropriate to give him books right away? Should I wait until he has come back to begin his instruction?”

“Sir,” Childermass said, “you are the magician, not I.” Not strictly true, but then, that was only because Mr Norrell didn’t hold with tarot. “You would know better than I what is right and proper.”

Norrell stopped, forced himself to calm. “Yes. Yes, you’re right, Childermass. I expect he should not know the proper way to go about this either.”

“Yes, sir,” Childermass agreed. He quietly left to prepare the tea.


End file.
